


Little bits being swept up by a janitor dead. (Am I ready to die? )

by Blaze Stone (BlazeStone)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e13 The Zeppo, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internal Monologue, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:35:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeStone/pseuds/Blaze%20Stone
Summary: Another story that just kept creeping its way to the front of my mind. The Zeppo is probably Xander's finest moment, even better for me than the season 6 finale, because nobody but him will ever know.If you like it, think it needs work, want to provide constructive criticism, or even just want to flame it because you think it sucks, please comment. Knowing what people think helps me improve as a writer, even the comments I might not want to hear.





	Little bits being swept up by a janitor dead. (Am I ready to die? )

**Author's Note:**

> Another story that just kept creeping its way to the front of my mind. The Zeppo is probably Xander's finest moment, even better for me than the season 6 finale, because nobody but him will ever know. 
> 
> If you like it, think it needs work, want to provide constructive criticism, or even just want to flame it because you think it sucks, please comment. Knowing what people think helps me improve as a writer, even the comments I might not want to hear.

Tension so thick, every creak and groan of the old school sounded like gunshots. Standing in the basement, a bomb rigged to blow with less than a minute on the clock, me on one side and Jack O'Toole on the other. 

Our eyes met, and for once I saw fear in his expression. Hidden in the tensed muscles strung taut under his leather jacket, hardened in the lines creasing the soft flesh of his face, written in the manic speed of his frantically darting eyes. Jack O'Toole was terrified of dying and for good reason, as there was a fully functioning bomb he'd built about to take him out permanently. 

"Yeah, but this is different. Being blown up isn't walking around and drinking with your buddies dead. It's little bits being swept up by a janitor dead, and I don't think you're ready for that." 

Another pregnant pause. Moving before he could even begin to, I started to cut him off, both of us only moving inches to sow for it. 

We were in a game of chicken, and Mr. Zombified Jack O'Toole knew it too. Jack didn't realise that at the beginning, I was bluffing about my odds of keeping him here for long enough. The longer he took to make his move however, the more it changed from a fight to escape, to a battle of wills and words.

Sneering, Jack threw back a classic childish retort. 

"Are you?"

Oh please.

Jack's bravado stank of desperation. Of a belief that there was nothing more to life than pleasure and continued existence. It couldn't be more obvious that Jack was terrified of dying properly, here and now. Which made his question all the more important. 

Am I ready to die? 

Who is? Knowing that there's an end to existence. That you're here one moment and gone the next, leaving only the people who remember you and the things you've done. Is anyone ever ready for that? 

To that I say, it depends on who you are. Growing up believing you're worth nothing, that you'll never amount to anything, and that your mere existence is a drain on those around you, someone like that might. Someone who through many bumbling efforts, most of those failing or making things worse, has tried to do the right thing with scarcely a second thought about personal cost, they might be. For someone who knows the stakes, and the price that goes with playing the game, someone like that could be. A person for whom even their friends don't believe in their abilities, a person whose mistakes helped create the mess that they were standing in, they probably would. 

If all of the above were to apply to one person, one schmuck in the right place, at the right time, and all that stood between the surprise death of his friends? Well there could only ever be one answer to a question like that. 

I was Alexander LaVelle Harris, the zeppo of the Scoobies. While my friends could take down demons with their bare hands, cast spells and curses which turn impossible fights into winnable ones, become raging beasts once a month, or knew more about the occult than Einstein knew about physics, I was the guy who went for snacks. 

Apocalypse time rolls around, I was the guy going on supply runs, or providing support for the power players. No special abilities, or arcane knowledge, barely any combat experience and definitely the one most likely to die in any given fight, there wasn't much I could do. In a fight with a bombing, zombie, gang-member, bully, I was pretty much guaranteed to lose. 

But, I could make them pay for it. 

If nothing else, I could take Jack O'Toole down with me and end the unlife he'd managed to steal back from the jaws of death. Maybe I wouldn't be remembered, hell the rest of Sunnydale would probably assume I'd helped him and screwed it up, killing us both. There'd be some truth in that. Who knows, maybe it'd be karma for all the horrible things I've ever done. 

Was I ready to die? Die in a proper "no resurrections allowed" kind of way? 

Only a moron would ask me a question like that.

"I like the quiet."

Our eyes met, each gauging the other's commitment, searching for weakness. Jack thought he knew me, a bumbling and fearful dork who would scramble to avoid pain and dying. Never had he considered that, given the right motivations, I might be willing to stare him down and sacrifice myself for someone else. 

This was always going to be my reward anyways. Ending on a high note. Being the guy who knew his place and stood his ground. Having the chance, for once, to be the hero. Even if that also meant it was time for me to exit stage left. 

Jack looked at me. 

I looked at him. 

Always knew I was gonna die here in Sunnydale High. Looks like my number is finally up. Though apparently Jack is more determined than I thought. Still looks terrified though. Hope he won't cut the wrong wire if/when he goes for the bomb. That would be an embarrassing way to go, being blown up by a nervous bomber-turned-bomb-defuser. It would fit with my life though. Dying in an embarrassing way because of a trail of mistakes, being blown up because I was finally doing the right thing. 

Sorry, Cordy. There's never been a bigger regret in my short life. I still love you, in the weird and confrontational way we ended up loving each other. Truly, I wish you nothing but success. 

Sorry Buff. It's fourth and long, and I just couldn't pull off a hailmary this time. From the moment I saw you, I knew in my soul that you would always have a place in my heart, and you've done nothing but prove that every day since. Hope after I've done my time in the sauna down under, I'll see you on the other side.

Will. Well, there's more to say than I ever could, and more to apologize for than grains of sand on the beach. You're my best friend, and the one person alive who might know just how much I love you because of it. Willow, you've saved me more times than I can count and probably in more ways than I know, and for that I'll always be thankful. I'm so sorry I ended up hurting your relationship with Oz, and I know I'll never forgive myself for it. Enjoy your reward for putting up with me for all these years. Maybe I'll even see you again, after paying my dues to the big man who went down to Georgia. 

Giles, G-man, the best and most badass librarian in North America, thank you. Thank you for putting up with a 'daft, barbaric, and idiotic pillock' as you'd probably call me. Sorry for constantly frustrating you, asking stupid questions and making your life difficult. You've been the closest thing I've ever had to a father, and I can't thank you enough for it. Showing me that doing the right thing is rarely easy, but always worth it. Love you G-man. Hopefully by standing my ground I'll live up to the high standard you've lived and, if I'm lucky, even make you proud for it. Heaven probably needs a librarian like you to help out, and I hope that I get library privileges while doing my time. Even if only to tell you that I finally did something right. Made the right choice. The moral choice. By following your example. 

Oz, Faith, wish I knew you both better. Sorry for all the pain I've caused you, through mistakes I've made, by accident and just cause I'm an idiot. Hope to see you after I do my tour in the sulphur hot-tubs down under.

Well this is it. Make or break time. Eleven seconds on the clock, and Jack still doesn't look like he's going to move. As the song says, 'C'est la vie', even if it's being sung out at the end. Do you get torture breaks in hell? You know, time to reflect on the horrible things you've done in between bouts of mind-shattering torture? Or is it just a constant stream of pain, misery, horror and despair? Wouldn't that just get old after a while? Maybe they take breaks to make you suffer even more? Who knows, maybe-

 

5  
4  
3  
2  
1  
...  
......  
.........

 

Xander Harris OS rebooting. Please be patient...

Updates complete! Reboot successful! 

Oh God. I'm alive.

Holy shit, I'm alive. Didn't think I'd make it through that one. 

"Good boy." I manage to say. Don't know how I'm able to string words together, but my mouth has always had an autopilot feature so maybe I'll just enjoy it for once. 

Jack looks defeated, but life on the hellmouth has taught me that an enemy who hangs around, will get you eventually. Walking over to him, I don't think his eyes have moved from where he just defused the bomb. Glancing down so I know for myself in the future, just in case Jack or someone else tries this again, I'd never have guessed how to defuse it without dying. 

"I don't think I wanna be seeing you on campus anymore, Jack."

Adrenaline is starting to flood my mind as I walk out of the basement. Nerve endings are on fire from where I've been hurt, dulled by the uncontrollable energy of surviving after I should've been nothing bigger than itty-bitty Xander bits. 

Holy shit. I'm still alive. 

Better take the car home and try to sleep now. Think I've got homework due tomorrow, and I'll need my sleep if my teacher is going to believe me when I lie through my teeth about why it's not done.

Yup. Sleep is definitely a priority, if I can manage it.

**Author's Note:**

> Have and will continuously edit for errors, spelling mistakes, incorrect grammar, etc.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you feel any emotions at all while reading this, please let me know, and help me become a better writer!
> 
> Edit March 14, 2020: Jesus. Do most of my writing on my tablet, and just realized the massive author's note spelling error. Oops. Sorry everyone.


End file.
